Chapter Nineteen: Concussion

The medic clucked his tongue disapprovingly as he sponged the blood off Lucky's throbbing face.

"What on earth did you say to your cellmate?" she scolded.

Flashback: Lucky tried to avoid eye contact with #3529. He didn't want anything to do with that sick man.

"You lookin' at me, punk?" #3529 demanded roughly. Lucky shook his head, not looking up.

"You too good to look at me?"

Lucky realized what kind of a person #3529 was. He was like the tough guys back home who would twist everything you said and did when they were looking for an excuse to fight.

Lucky raised his head to retaliate, but never got the chance. His eyes widened and he ducked too late as #3529's fist came flying at his face.

End flashback.

The fight had gone on until the warden had broken them up. Lucky's throat was hoarse, though he couldn't remember screaming. He couldn't remember much of anything, except a lot of pain. His head still throbbed and everything looked hazy.

"You've got a concussion," the medic informed him grimly. "You need a few days off."

"What?" Lucky exclaimed, sitting up. "But I've got my trial!"

"I'm sorry, son," the medic started, but Lucky cut him off. His mind was working like a broken record, and all he could hear was that he wouldn't be able to go to his trial reverberating in his head.

"What about my trial, man? What about my damn trial?" He was shouting now.

"Calm down, son, before I give you a sedative!" the medic barked. Lucky calmed down, breathing hard.

His trial would be postponed indefinitely, he learned later. An indefinite number of days he would be in jail. Lucky didn't think he could bear this for much longer. He thought he finally understood why they took away your belt and shoelaces when you first got here.

That last thought by itself shocked his system enough to make him break out in a cold sweat and start trembling uncontrollably. He waited it out, hoping none of the others were watching him. If he looked weak, it was just another excuse to beat him up some more.

They brought him dinner. It was too salty, but they wouldn't bring him any more water when he asked. "You get what you get!" the warden snapped.

He dreamed that night. It was the first dream he had had in a long time.

In it, he was still thirsty as ever. He was begging for water, but the people all around him just moved on. He felt like he was about to collapse when some kind soul finally handed him a water bottle and waited while he drained it. He looked up to thank the person and saw that it was A.J., smiling beatifically.

He woke up to see his other cellmate, a man they called Juice, grinning wickedly at him. "Sweet dreams?"

"Huh?" Lucky said, feeling the blush rise up into his face even as he played dumb.

"A.J.? Dreaming of a guy?" Juice added, looking a bit repulsed.

"A.J. stands for Anjali Jahaji! As in a GIRL," Lucky said heatedly. Juice looked thoroughly relieved.

"Good. Cause the way you said her name, you weren't exactly having a nightmare," Juice teased.

"Man, she's my best friend," Lucky said emphatically. "Not my girlfriend!"

"Not from what you were dreaming. Relax," he added as Lucky opened his mouth again. "These dreams are perfectly normal."

"Perfectly normal? What are you, a damn psychologist?" Lucky demanded.

"Watch it," Juice said warningly. Lucky shut his mouth. Juice was tougher than he looked.

The warden excused Lucky from jail duty that day because of his concussion. Lucky was grateful. He still felt terrible.

He slept during the day. Since he had gotten that concussion, he felt tired all the time.

As he slept, he dreamed again, the exact same dream as before.

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Really short chapter, I know. But at least I updated, right?